Interview with Danielle Shandiin Emerson
Danielle Shandiin Emerson, winner of the ’24 Bird In Your Hand Prize, shared more about her work and process with Thin Air.
Thin Air: Would you please tell us about yourself as well as what inspired your wonderful poem?
Danielle Shandiin Emerson: Let me start by introducing myself: Yá’át’ééh shí éí Danielle Emerson yinishyé. Tłaashchi’i nishłí. Ta’neezaahníí éí bashichíín. Ashíí’híí éí dashicheii. Ta’chííníí éí dashinalí. Adóó Nataaníí Nez éí shíghandí. Kot’éégo éí Diné asdzáán nishłí.
My name is Danielle. I am the Red Cheek Clan, born for the Tangle Clan. I am from Shiprock, New Mexico. And I am a Diné (Navajo) woman. I’m from Shiprock, but I also spent a lot of time in Upper Fruitland, NM at my grandmother’s farm.
I love writing about my family and culture. I’m currently so far away from home, so I find comfort in writing about my loved ones and our Diné heritage. A lot of my work is inspired by the women in my family. Diné culture is a matrilineal society, and throughout my upbringing, there have been so many impactful matriarchs: my mother, my masaní (grandmother), my aunts, and cousins. This poem is an accumulation of everything they’ve given me and continue to project out into the world as powerful women. Their love and strength inspired this poem.
What are you currently up to?
I’m currently working on a collection of YA contemporary Diné short stories! It’s exciting work. There are so many ideas in my notebooks that I can’t wait to explore more. I’m the 2023-2024 Writer-In-Residence for the Associates of the Boston Public Library, so I have a lovely support network helping me write these stories. I’ve been wanting to write these stories for years, especially as a little Diné girl on the rez back home, so this opportunity is a gracious step towards uplifting my culture and getting to do what I love: storytelling!
Ah! I’m also currently an editorial intern at Tin House, and will soon be Spring editorial intern at Barefoot Books. I love working with stories, so when I’m not writing I’m reading and rereading.
Who influenced you the most when you first started writing? Who and/or what influences you now?
When I was younger my father used to read me car manuals because we didn’t have any children’s books at the time. I think his dedication to teaching me the basics of reading and writing really inspired young Danielle. Of course, our relationship was complicated by addiction and alcohol but if I’m honest about who influenced me the most when I first started writing, it was my dad, and I’m grateful for that.
But what influences me now? I would have to say my family, my friends, and my culture. I’m compelled to write about home, about Diné perspectives, about memories, and lived experiences. I write to reach something close to healing, and my loved ones are restorative, they’re caring and honest, and my writing is heavily influenced by their presence in my life.
If I had to name specific contemporary writers who’ve influenced me or that I greatly look up to, they’re Danielle Geller, Stacie Shannon Denetsosie, Jhumpa Lahiri, Rainbow Rowell, and, of course, Luci Tapahonso. They’re writing is heartfelt, candid, and living—all things I hope to one day accomplish with my writing.
What recommendations do you have for literary magazines that want to support writers from Indigenous backgrounds and celebrate their work?
I’d say, firstly, get Native and Indigenous readers, editors, storytellers in the room with you. Don’t hesitate to support our ideas just because they seem “uncommon” or “different.” I think a lot of supporting writers from Indigenous backgrounds comes down to listening and making space, making space to celebrate their work, making space to see their work thrive, making space to understand or reach something close to understanding. To make things accessible! Whether that’s through waiving submission fees or running Native and Indigenous-focused issues, not just during Native American Heritage Month, but also throughout the year. To support Native and Indigenous writers, and especially to celebrate them, you need to lower inherently colonial barriers perpetuated by the literary canon. We’re still here, our stories are still here. And we aren’t going anywhere. So, literary magazines need to make space and listen.
There are so many memorable lines in “Her, and Those Before Her.” Could you reflect and expound on the lines,
“If I remind myself that she is not gone, that no one
I’ve loved and been loved by
Is ever really gone,”?
This goes back to how I mentioned that my work, my writing, and even my being, returns to family and care. I believe that loved ones impact you forever. My masaní (grandmother) is still with me, and so are my other grandparents. They’re with me in the words that I speak, in the Diné Bizaad that I learn, in the food that I eat, and in the memories that I look back on from time to time. Love is intergenerational, just as culture is intergenerational. I wrote those lines with my loved ones in mind, and how their love, their care and teachings, never really disappear. Because we’re all here to uplift and carry the things that our loved ones leave us with, whether intentionally or unintentionally. And I think that’s beautiful and healing.
You artfully include the Diné language throughout your poetry and in the conclusion. Would you share with us about the decision to use this technique and how the poem was shaped and completed as a result?
This goes hand in hand with my love towards uplifting my culture and Diné Bizaad, our Diné language. I’ve been working a lot on language learning. I’m not fluent in Diné Bizaad sadly. Colonization took that from me and so many others in my community. However, Diné Bizaad has not disappeared. It’s a strong language and is spoken by so many strong and influential people in my community. I love talking with my aunts and cousins and hearing Diné Bizaad being spoken so casually back home, whether it’s in the flea markets or my aunt’s kitchen. This poem is a step towards better understanding my language learning journey. I love that poetry and writing can help me practice learning my language in a way that’s creative, but also more alive and fluid, not just rewriting phrases in a workbook or copying and pasting from the internet. I want to learn Diné Bizaad as an extension of myself and my community, and poetry helps me reach that.
What are you working on now? Where can we find more of your writing?
I just had a poem published by the Chapter House Journal about my baby niece, titled “Love Letter to Adalynn’s First Laugh.” I’m also currently working on a short fiction piece titled “Arizona Green Tea.” It features the perspective of a young Diné photographer named Lorrain with a budding crush on a peer, and star basketball player, named Shandíín. This piece talks a lot about language learning as a high schooler, young queer love, and the impact of family and loved ones beyond their time on earth. Oh, and I also had a short story recently published in swamp pink, titled “The Grief of Christmas and Ymir.” This story centers on names, and their ability to mean things. Two girls with unusual names and unusual backgrounds are caught in unfortunate circumstances where they’ve both lost someone they loved. Well, I just wanted them to come together, just to feel a tiny bit better. Even if just for a night. And even if they’ve never really interacted beforehand. I’ll be honest, it’s not the happiest of stories, but it might be the most hopeful.
It’s funny, I always consider myself a fiction writer and not really a poet, but I remind myself that if you write poetry, in any capacity, you’re a poet and you’re definitely a writer.
Chris Huff is Thin Air‘s incoming non-fiction editor.
Thin Air 